


Paradise

by csi_sanders1129



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Afterlife, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Movie(s), Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/csi_sanders1129/pseuds/csi_sanders1129
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Curtis is surprised enough that he wakes up after the train crash, and more surprised to find he's not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just saw the movie like last week and needed something happier than the movie's ending, and so this happened... It'll probably have some more parts. First try at Snowpiercer fic. Characters are not mine, please enjoy! Comments are awesome.

Curtis wakes up, rather surprised to have woken up at all, and finds that he's surrounded by so many things he'd never thought he'd ever experience again, things he hasn't felt, heard, seen or smelled in nearly two decades.

There are birds chirping happily nearby, the tinny sound muted by glass. There's the smell of breakfast cooking, pancakes, he thinks, and bacon - coffee, maybe? There's a bed, a warm and comfortable bed, beneath him, with worn, soft flannel sheets and thick blankets pulled up to his chin, and for the first time in eighteen years, there isn't a lingering chill in the air.

It's perfect.

But, he doesn't open his eyes, because he knows it isn't real.

It can't be real.

There's no way he survived the explosion. With any luck, Yona and Timmy did, maybe some of the others on board, but even that seems unlikely, and it's even more improbable that they'll make it more than a day or two out in the arctic wasteland outside, even if it does prove to be livable.

He flexes his hands and is surprised to find that he has two again, when he should only have one. Finds that the cuts and bruises and breaks he gained in the rebellion no longer trouble him, nor do any of the old aches and pains that came with tail-section life. Definitely not real, then. A dream, one last dream of a man slowly dying in the burning remnants of the train, half-buried under an avalanche of ice and snow.

Not.

Real.

"You gonna sleep the whole day away, are ya?"

A nightmare, then, he thinks. Not even a dream, but a torturous reminder of what he lost fighting his way to the front of the damned train. That voice, it can't really be here; he doesn't even deserve to imagine hearing it again, not after what he did to its owner.

"Curtis, get up," the voice comes again, the bed dipping at his side as if someone were climbing all over it. "There's food, real food, and you should eat somethin'," this Not-Edgar tries to persuade him. "C'mon, I know you're awake. I slept under you for almost all of my life, I know when you're really asleep."

Except he's not asleep. He's dead, or dying, and this is... this isn't real.

"Curtis!" A hand pulls away the blankets with such force that he opens his eyes in surprise and... and... and...

"Edgar?"

"Were you expecting someone else?"

Curtis sits up slowly, can't take his eyes off of him, can't even blink because Edgar is fucking sitting in front of him like it's no big deal, like Curtis hadn't let him die. He pulls the kid into a bone crushing hug, doesn't let go, doesn't ever want to let go because out of everyone he lost on the damn train - Gilliam and Tanya and Andrew and Andy and Grey and Minsu, all of those people in the tail section that had died because of him and his stupid revolution - out of all of them, losing Edgar had been the worst. He reaches out, a hand sliding over Edgar's face, curling into his hair, "Is this real?" He asks, his voice quiet and catching on the words because he's still not sure and he doesn't know if he could take losing Edgar again.

"You tell me," Edgar answers, eyes locked with Curtis's, "This look like the train to you?"

And finally Curtis tears his eyes away from Edgar long enough to look around the room - and it is a room, not a car on the damned train. A room, with walls and windows and floors, a room like any bedroom might have looked like Before the freeze, with a bed and a dresser full of clothes and books on a nightstand. There's a window, a tree with the first signs of fresh, green leaves on its branches, an early sign of spring, and birds flit by now and again, silhouetted by the brilliant sun. There's a door, half-open, that Edgar must have come in through, a view of a bright hallway through it. He eyes dart back to Edgar, to the lack of old, patched clothes and the comfortable looking pajama pants and faded t-shirt he's wearing - something Edgar's never experienced, that, separate clothes for sleeping. He's out of his usual clothes, too, wearing comfortable, old sweatpants that remind him of his favorite pair in high school.

"No," he says, finally. "No, it doesn't."

"Whatever this place is," Edgar starts, "It's as real as anything else."

Curtis doesn't know what this place is, either - some kind of paradise? some kind of limbo? some kind of trap? something else? He's not sure he cares what it is if he gets to have Edgar back. "How did I get here? How did you?"

Edgar frowns, drops his gaze to stare down at the blankets. "I woke up here, after... after the tunnel."

Curtis swallows hard at the memory that brings to mind. "Fuck," Curtis breathes out, reaching out again, one of his hands squeezing Edgar's, "I'm sorry, Edgar. I'm so sorry. I should have... Mason wasn't worth it - the whole damn thing wasn't worth it. Turning my back on you..."

"He would have killed me, either way," Edgar says, voice quiet and somber. "If you had turned back, he still would have stabbed me and Mason would have escaped."

He wishes he'd let Mason escape, sometimes - trusting Mason had been a mistake, and maybe if they hadn't, they wouldn't have been so easily ambushed on the school car. Going after Mason had been a mistake, one that had cost him Edgar and then so many others on the path of his futile rebellion.

"I don't blame you," Edgar tells him, when Curtis' solemn silence has stretched on too long.

"You should."

Edgar rolls his eyes, "Well, I don't. I knew what I was getting into when we started the rebellion. I knew I could die, I knew you could die, any of us could have died. Hell, maybe this is what was supposed to happen all along - maybe none of us were supposed to survive." Edgar shrugs, gestures vaguely around the room, "The train was real. But so is this, and this place isn't fucking freezing, so can't we just enjoy it? We've got warm clothes, a nice place to sleep, good food, sunshine, there's a whole world outside - it's everything we were fighting for."

Curtis can't argue with that, even though a part of him still can't believe this is real. He heaves a sigh of defeat and decides to go with it. "Alright," he agrees, and the doubt he feels falls away when Edgar fucking beams at him.

"Good," the kid says, "Breakfast, then?"

"Not yet," Curtis isn't ready to risk this new reality, quite content for this to be his whole world for a little while longer, "Just... just do me a favor," he says, even though he has no right to ask for one, not from Edgar, of all people. He lifts the blankets in invitation, and Edgar moves without argument, sliding in beside him and settling in, arms and legs entangling. Curtis revels in this, Edgar pressed against his side, head on his shoulder, their bodies warm wherever they touch. "Just for a little while," he promises, holding onto Edgar a little tighter than is necessary.

Edgar doesn't seem to be complaining, though. He leans up and claims a long, slow kiss, another in a long list of things Curtis had never thought he'd get to experience again. "I'm glad you're here," Edgar admits.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is Chapter 2, there will be a few more, I think. Making up this afterlife is hard. Characters are not mine, please enjoy! Comments are awesome.

The early morning sunlight that had lit the room when Curtis had first woken has drifted into early afternoon sunlight by the time Edgar finally convinces him to get out of bed, that nothing bad will happen if they leave the room. Nonetheless, Curtis is slow to climb out of the bed, half-expecting all of this to disappear with every second, and he keeps one hand on Edgar's shirt - like a child afraid to lose a parent in a crowd - as they leave the room. There's a short hallway, a set of stairs. It reminds him of the house he'd grown up in, a little. That home had never been so welcoming, so bright and peaceful as this one seems to be. The second to last stair creaks when he steps on it, though, just like he remembers, and the stained glass on the front door casts the same shadows that it did before the freeze. His bare feet pad quietly on the linoleum floor of a small kitchen, where Tanya is clearing the table, and Andrew is washing dishes, Andy at his side.

"You're all here, too?"

Tanya greets him with a smile, "Good to see you're finally up and about. We were starting to worry," she says, coming over to hug him. "There are plates for the two of you keeping warm in the oven, if you're hungry, which I imagine you are."

Edgar slips away from him, bee-lining to retrieve the duo of plates piled high with pancakes, bacon and eggs. Curtis watches him closely, making sure he doesn't disappear as he claims a seat at the table and dives in.

"Chew your food, boy," Tanya chides, "No one is going to take it from you, not anymore."

Curtis lets her usher him into another seat, and he obediently sits. The plate in front of him, however, is daunting, and he's got other things on his mind. "Tanya," Curtis starts, not sure how to tell her that while he may have done as he'd promised - saved Timmy - that it means he's not here with them. "A-about Timmy. He's-"

"Momma!" The little boy comes rushing into the kitchen from a door that leads outside, a brand new soccer ball in his arms. "Will you come and play with me?"

Tanya scoops her son up into her arms with a smile, "In a little while," she promises.

Timmy squirms out of his mother's arms and goes to lure Andy into a game while he waits.

"I thought-" Curtis starts, not sure if he should be crushed that Timmy didn't survive with Yona or relieved that they're together again.

There's a hand on his arm, a comforting weight, and she smiles and tells him, "It's okay."

"Is- Did anyone else..."

"Everyone's here," Tanya assures him, "Yona and her father are around somewhere." Yona didn't make it, either, then, he thinks. That really is everyone. "And Gilliam said he'd get Grey to bring him over later, if you wanted to see him."

"Gilliam's here?" He snaps, suddenly angry. He's still not sure if he believes the story that Wilford told him or not - damn it, is Wilford here, too? - but he's definitely going to get some answers from the old man. He moves to stand, to storm out of this house to wherever Gilliam is and find out the truth, because if Gilliam was working with Wilford then he's the reason that all of them are here. He's the reason Curtis did all of this in the first place, the reason he watched Edgar and Andrew and Tanya and everyone else die.

Edgar reaches out, grabs his arm to stop him from rushing off. "My Mom's here, too," he says, and suddenly Curtis isn't thinking about Gilliam at all. "I haven't seen her yet, but she's... will you come with me?"

Tanya gives him a look and he sinks back into his spot beside Edgar. "If you want me to," he promises.

"I do," Edgar answers, hand still curled around Curtis's wrist, like now he's the one who doesn't want to let go.

Curtis moves so that Edgar's got hold of his hand, instead, squeezes gently in reassurance, "Okay," he says, "Whenever you're ready, we'll go."


	3. Chapter 3

It's not until later, after Andrew, with Andy, and Tonya, with Timmy, have both left to rejoin their own respectively reunited families that Edgar is finally ready. He'd been stalling before they left - game after game after game with the kids, kicking the ball around the backyard until the sun had started to set. He's not rushing once they're gone, either, dragging Curtis back up to the room he'd woken up in, reveling in a hot shower; he loiters while picking out something to wear (something he's never had to do before because on the train whatever you had you wore until it could no longer be repaired, Curtis thinks, so there's no reason it should take him this long).

Finally, he gives Curtis this little nod and makes for the stairs, for the door, and now it is Curtis's turn to freak out because this is happening and he's not sure he can face it.

Gilliam had been the one to decide how much of the truth to tell Edgar when he got old enough to ask about his mother. He remembered her, a little. He remembered enough to ask, when he was five or six, where she was. Gilliam had told him, while Curtis had stood aside and tried not to remember. "Things were bad," Gilliam had said, "When we boarded the train, things were bad. Someone hurt her, but they didn't hurt you. They'd never hurt you," Gilliam had said, with a pointed look at Curtis over the boy's shoulder.

Edgar had never asked who the someone was.

"I can't do this," Curtis says, and he stops. The hand that's been clutching at his for so long now falls away with the momentum and Edgar turns to face him in confusion. Curtis can't blame him. Edgar had followed him to his own death, as he'd led a rebellion with no chance of success, and now he can't follow Edgar for this one thing?

"Why not?"

"I... I need to tell you something. And it's something I should have told you a long time ago, back when you first asked me what happened to your mother." Curtis is geared up for a rambling confession, for begging Edgar to one day maybe possibly consider forgiving him for what he did, for hiding it from him all these years. He's ready to lose Edgar (not ready, expecting, rather?) over this because he can't let Edgar do this without knowing the truth.

But Edgar stops him, cuts him off with a quiet, "I know."

What?

"I know already. I figured it out a long time ago, Curtis. Why else would they have given me to you to look after? There were plenty of parents on board the train - Tanya, Andrew, others - who could have taken me in, and you were only a kid yourself back then. So why else? Plus, you get this look whenever I mention her like I just punched you in the gut."

Curtis forgets how to breathe for a long, long moment, just stands there and stares. Edgar's known all this time? He doesn't know everything, he's sure, but he knows enough for now and that's like someone lifting the weight of the train off his chest. "I'm sorry," he says, "I know that doesn't... doesn't change anything, make up for anything, but I am."

"Just come with me," Edgar asks, drawing Curtis out the front door.

Curtis follows, squeezes lightly on the hand that catches his again.

There's a part of him still thinks that this is all a dream, so he's not sure what to expect when he walks outside. The backyard had been green and warm, but outside of that haven, he knows nothing. There's some small part of his brain expecting the frozen wasteland they've spent the last two decades avoiding to be beyond the front door, but there's no snow on the other side, just green grass and a clear, blue sky. It... doesn't really look like anywhere in particular, just like a standard cluster of cookie-cutter houses that, like the house itself, vaguely reminds him of where he'd grown up. He can smell the ocean nearby, too, all the smells of summer in the air.

It's nice.

Edgar leads them through a maze of neatly arranged neighborhoods, though Curtis has no idea how he knows where he's going. They pass people, strangers, all happy and smiling and content in this weird utopia they all seem to have found. They pass whole families spanning generations, they pass couples, they pass giggling children, they pass an old lady walking a considerable legion of dogs.

"We're here," Edgar says, when they've been walking for a good while and it's beginning to get dark. The house they stop in front of looks just like all the others, all vaguely familiar looking but foreign at the same time. This one is on the end of a row of houses. "This is it."

Edgar's grip on his hand is painfully strong, now, but Curtis suspects it's only to hide how much he's shaking. They seem to be stalling again, too. "I'm with you," Curtis promises, even though facing her is a more daunting task than facing Wilford ever seemed.

Slowly, Edgar edges them closer to the door. He finally makes it that far, and it swings open before he can even raise a hand to knock. "Edgar," a young woman breathes, sweeping him into a crushing hug. "You've gotten so big!"

"Mom," he chokes out.

She drags Edgar inside, ushers Curtis in with a wave and shuts the door behind them before she tackles her son with another long, long, long hug. "I missed you so much."

Curtis hovers awkwardly in the background, trying hard not to let his presence here take away from this moment.

"I missed you, too."

Her eyes land on him, eventually, when she reluctantly releases Edgar from her arms, and there's a glimmer of recognition there, behind her tears. She knows, Curtis thinks, she knows it was him and he dreads what will come next. "Who's your friend, Edgar?" She asks.

"Mom, this is Curtis," Edgar blurts out, hovering awkwardly in the space between them. "Curtis, this is my Mom," he cuts himself off though, turns to look at her with a deep frown on his face. "I'm sorry, I don't even know your name," he admits, and Curtis feels that stab of guilt twist in his chest again for taking so much away from him. They could have been a real family if he hadn't snatched it away from them before they even had a chance.

But she only smiles at her son, drags a hand to smooth through his messy hair, "Evelyn," she tells him. "It's Evelyn."

"Evelyn, then," Curtis echoes, dares to reach out a hand in nervous greeting. "It's nice to meet you."

She smiles at him, too, though, and pulls him into a hug. "Thank you for watching out for my son," she says, which was not anywhere on the lengthy list of things he was expecting to hear.

'I'm sorry,' is on his lips again, but the clatter of footsteps on stairs distracts him. Who else is here?

A young girl, in her early teens maybe, appears at the bottom of the stairs, glancing in confusion at the strangers she finds gathered there by the front door. "Mom?" She asks, an eyebrow raised toward them. "Who's this? Why are you crying?"

Evelyn wipes her eyes and clears her throat. "This is Edgar," she says, and the girl's eyes blow wide with recognition. "Edgar, this is your older sister, Liz. She, she didn't make it on the train with us. Your father is here, too, he died before you were born - he's not home right now."

Once again, Edgar ends up caught in a crushing hug, this time from the sister he didn't know existed. Curtis looks on silently.

"My little brother's older than me," she teases, with tears in her eyes, too. She barely comes up to his shoulders. "Glad you're here," Liz cries into his shirt. Edgar looks vaguely panicked.

Curtis slips back, toward the front door. He'll make a quick exit, leave them alone to be a family. He's not part of it and he knows that, could never be a part of a family that he had a hand in tearing apart. Surely, Edgar will want to be with them now that they've been reunited. He won't want to stay with him. He has a family, a mom, a dad, a sister. Who knows what kind of extended family there is around this place?

"Where do you think you're going?" Evelyn calls him out just as he gets one hand on the door.

He doesn't have an answer.

"Stay," Edgar insists.

He stays.


End file.
